193
The room is quiet except for the steady, rhythmic beep of the monitor.
Amanda sits in the chair pulled close to the bed, her knee pressed against the side like she's afraid even a few inches of space might matter. One of her hands is wrapped carefully around Ericka's, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles over her knuckles.
Ericka looks impossibly still.
Too still.
Her hair is tucked back behind her ears, a faint flush still lingering in her cheeks, chest rising and falling in shallow but steady breaths. The IV line snakes from her arm, clear and clinical and terrifying all at once.
Amanda leans forward, resting her forehead against the edge of the mattress.
"Hey," she whispers. "It's me."
Her voice cracks on the second word, and she clears her throat, trying again.
"You scared the hell out of me," she murmurs softly. "I know you probably can't hear me... but I'm here anyway."
She lifts Ericka's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"You don't get to do that again," Amanda says quietly, half-joking, half-pleading. "You hear me? No more collapsing. No more 'something's wrong' without warning."
Her thumb keeps moving, a steady rhythm.
"The baby's okay," she continues, voice gentler now. "The doctor said so. I know you'd worry about that first." A small, shaky smile flickers across her face. "You always do."
Amanda exhales slowly, trying to keep herself together.
"I should've made you eat more this morning," she whispers. "Should've noticed you were pushing too hard. I promise... I'm not letting that happen again."
She leans closer, her mouth near Ericka's ear now.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," Amanda says. "Not with me. I've got you. Always."
She stays like that for several minutes — talking softly, filling the silence with reassurance, grounding herself as much as Ericka.
Finally, there's a soft knock at the door.
Amanda looks up, blinking quickly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. A nurse stands there, gentle smile in place.
"You can switch out now if you'd like," she says quietly. "One at a time."
Amanda nods. She gives Ericka's hand one more squeeze.
"I'll be right outside," she whispers. "Your family's here."
She steps out into the hallway where Ericka's mom stands immediately, hands clasped tight, eyes already red.
Amanda doesn't even get a word out before Ericka's mom pulls her into a hug — firm, grounding, grateful.
"Thank you," her mom murmurs. "For being with her."
Amanda swallows. "Of course."
She steps aside. "You can go in."
Ericka's mom walks in slowly, reverently, like she's afraid to disturb the air. Amanda watches through the glass as she takes Ericka's hand, leaning close, whispering words only a mother can.
After a few minutes, Amanda taps lightly and gestures for Ericka's dad.
He nods, jaw tight, claps Amanda gently on the shoulder before stepping inside. He stands at the bedside, one hand resting carefully on Ericka's arm, the other braced on the rail like he needs it to stay upright.
Amanda waits.
When he comes back out, Danielle is already on her feet.
"Me?" she asks softly.
Amanda nods. "Yeah."
Danielle takes a breath, straightens her shoulders, then pauses long enough to hug Amanda — quick but tight.
"She's going to be okay," Danielle says, more like she's convincing herself.
Amanda nods. "She is."
Danielle goes in next, and Amanda finally sinks down into the chair in the hallway, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together.
Time still moves strangely in hospitals.
The beeping of monitors is steady, almost hypnotic. The lights are low. The air smells faintly like antiseptic and coffee that's gone cold.
Amanda sits in the chair beside the bed, fingers laced tightly around Ericka's hand, her thumb rubbing slow, grounding circles like muscle memory. She hasn't moved since the nurse let her back in.
Ericka's brow tightens suddenly.
Her fingers twitch.
Then—she reaches.
Weak. Searching.
Amanda leans forward instantly. "Hey—hey, I'm here."
Ericka's eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. The moment they land on Amanda's face, her lower lip trembles.
"Amanda..." Her voice cracks immediately. "Something's wrong."
Tears spill before she can stop them.
Amanda stands halfway out of the chair, bending over the bed so Ericka can see her clearly. She cups Ericka's cheek gently, anchoring her.
"Hey," Amanda says softly. "You're okay. You're safe."
Ericka shakes her head, panic rising fast. "I didn't like that feeling," she whispers, breath hitching. "I got dizzy and then—then everything went dark. I tried to stand. I tried to call you. I thought—"
Her voice breaks completely.
"I thought something happened. Is everything okay? What's going on?"
Amanda's own eyes burn, but she keeps her voice steady, calm, solid.
"I know," she says, brushing Ericka's hair back from her damp forehead. "I know it was scary. You fainted, that's all. Your body got overwhelmed."
Ericka sees the truth in Amanda's face but still clings tighter, tears sliding down her temples.
"The baby?" she asks shakily. "Please tell me the baby's okay."
Amanda nods immediately, squeezing her hand. "The baby's perfect. Heartbeat's strong. Nothing's wrong."
Ericka lets out a broken sob, relief crashing through her all at once. She reaches again, pulling weakly at Amanda's sleeve like she needs her closer.
"I didn't like not knowing where I was," she whispers. "I didn't like not being able to reach you."
Amanda leans down until their foreheads touch, her voice barely above a breath.
"You don't have to do that again. I've got you. I'm right here."
Ericka cries quietly now, shoulders trembling as Amanda strokes her hair, murmuring reassurance over and over.
"You're okay."
"You're safe."
"I've got you."
After a moment, Ericka sniffles, her grip still firm. "I scared everyone."
Amanda smiles softly through her tears. "Yeah. You did."
Then, gentler: "But you're still here. And that's all that matters."
There's a light knock before the doctor steps in, voice calm and reassuring as he explains what happened—dehydration, stress, pregnancy-related blood pressure changes. A warning, not a disaster.
Ericka listens quietly, eyes never leaving Amanda's face.
"No work," the doctor finishes. "Rest. Observation tonight."
Amanda answers without hesitation. "Absolutely."
When the doctor leaves, the room goes quiet again.
Ericka exhales slowly, exhausted, eyes heavy but calmer now. She tightens her fingers around Amanda's hand one more time.
"You're not leaving," she says, half statement, half plea.
Amanda presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Not a chance."
The door opens quietly.
Amanda looks up first.
Ericka's mom steps in, eyes already glassy, one hand pressed to her chest like she's been holding her breath for hours.
Ericka's dad is right behind her, steady but pale, jaw tight in that way that means he's trying to stay strong.
Danielle hovers just outside the doorway for half a second, clearly unsure, then slips in last.
The room feels fuller instantly.
Ericka notices them and her eyes widen. "Mom... Dad..."
Her voice wobbles, and Amanda feels her fingers tighten again.
Ericka's mom is at the bedside in two steps, carefully brushing Ericka's hair back just like she did when Ericka was a kid. "Hey, sweetheart," she says softly. "We're here."
Ericka swallows. "I scared you."
Her mom shakes her head immediately. "You scared us because we love you. That's allowed."
Ericka lets out a shaky laugh that turns into a sniffle. Her dad steps closer now, resting a hand gently on the bed rail, his thumb rubbing along the edge.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, voice low and careful.
"Tired," Ericka admits. "And embarrassed."
"Don't," he says firmly. "None of that."
Danielle finally moves closer, trying to keep it light but clearly emotional. "Okay, so—ten out of ten dramatic entrance. Zero stars, would not recommend doing it again."
Ericka huffs a weak laugh. "Noted."
Danielle's smile falters just a little as she reaches out and squeezes Ericka's foot through the blanket. "You scared the hell out of us."
"I'm sorry," Ericka says again, eyes flicking to Amanda.
Amanda leans in. "She's okay," she tells them gently. "They're keeping her overnight just to be safe. The baby's fine. Everything's fine."
That's when Ericka's mom finally exhales for real, shoulders dropping as relief washes over her face. She looks at Amanda then—really looks at her.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For staying. For catching her. For... all of this."
Amanda nods, throat tight. "There was nowhere else I was going to be."
Ericka's dad adds softly, "We saw how fast you got here. The nurses mentioned it."
Amanda doesn't say anything. She just squeezes Ericka's hand again.
Ericka's mom sits carefully on the edge of the chair, still stroking Ericka's hair. "The doctor explained everything to us. Stress, dehydration, too much going on."
Ericka grimaces. "That tracks."
Danielle crosses her arms, eyebrow raised. "You mean the woman who runs an empire, refuses to slow down, and is growing a human might've pushed it a little?"
Ericka sighs. "When you say it like that..."
Amanda smiles faintly despite herself.
There's a quiet moment—no one rushing, no one filling the space just to fill it.
Ericka looks at all of them, eyes shining again, but this time softer. "I'm okay," she says, more to reassure them than herself. "I promise."
Her mom leans down and kisses her forehead. "We know. We just needed to see you."
Amanda shifts slightly, making room without letting go, and Ericka instinctively leans into her again.
Amanda waits until the room settles again—until Ericka's breathing evens out and her mom steps back into the chair—before she speaks.
Her thumb keeps tracing slow circles over Ericka's knuckles.
"...This might be too soon," Amanda says quietly, a hint of humor tucked into her voice, "and you can absolutely tell me to shut up."
Ericka looks at her, tired but curious. "That's never stopped you before."
Amanda huffs a soft laugh. "Fair."
She hesitates just a beat, then continues, gentler now.
"They had to wheel you out on a stretcher. Like—full on. Lights. Hallway. The whole office."
Ericka groans softly and covers her face with her free hand. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," Amanda says. "Every single person stopped what they were doing. Meetings ended mid-sentence. Phones dropped. Carter looked like he was about to pass out himself."
Danielle lets out a quiet snort. "I would've paid money to see that."
Ericka peeks between her fingers. "I hate this already."
Amanda squeezes her hand. "Hey. No—listen." Her tone shifts, warmer, teasing but fond.
"Everyone looked scared. Like... genuinely scared."
Ericka's expression softens. "They did?"
"Yeah," Amanda says. "Leah was already running. Jamie was asking if they needed to call your parents. Maria was crying. And I swear—half the office went silent when they rolled you past."
Ericka swallows, emotion flickering across her face. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Amanda cuts in gently. "But here's the funny part."
She smiles then, just a little.
"I think everyone in the office actually likes you now."
There's a beat.
Ericka blinks. "...Now?"
Amanda nods solemnly. "Confirmed. You've officially crossed from 'terrifying CEO' to 'human woman we are emotionally attached to.'"
Danielle laughs out loud. "Near-death experience really softens the brand."
Ericka shakes her head weakly, but she's smiling. "Fantastic. I collapse once and suddenly I'm relatable."
Amanda leans closer, her forehead brushing Ericka's temple.
"I heard someone whisper, 'She looked so small on the stretcher,'" she adds softly. "And another person said, 'She always takes care of everyone else.'"
That one lands differently.
Ericka's eyes shine again. "They said that?"
Amanda nods. "They did."
Her voice drops, sincere now.
"You scared them because you matter."
Ericka exhales slowly, emotion washing over her face. She turns her head just enough to press a faint kiss to Amanda's wrist.
"...Next time," she murmurs, "I'll try to earn that kind of loyalty without traumatizing the entire floor."
Amanda smiles, brushing her thumb under Ericka's eye.
"Deal. But for the record—if you ever do it again?"
She leans in, voice soft but firm.
"I'll still catch you."
Amanda stays close, still holding Ericka's hand, when Ericka lets out a small breath that sounds halfway between a sigh and a nervous laugh.
"Well..." Ericka says quietly, eyes flicking between Amanda and Leah, "I did text 911."
Amanda looks up immediately. "You did?"
Ericka nods. "To Leah. I saw you were in a meeting and I couldn't get through, and everything started spinning. I didn't know what else to do."
Amanda's brows knit for a beat—then realization hits.
"...So that's why you were running full speed past the conference room," Amanda says, turning toward Leah.
Leah snorts just as Carter's voice crackles through her phone on speaker.
"Oh, you should've seen her," Carter says, half-laughing, half-still-amazed. "Everyone saw her running. Like—full sprint. People literally froze. Nobody knew what to do or what was going on."
Leah shrugs, unapologetic. "All I saw was 911."
Carter jumps back in, more animated now. "And listen—when I saw Leah send 911 to the group chat? I don't think my feet even touched the ground. I sprinted to that conference room so fast I might've broken a record."
Amanda exhales a shaky laugh. "I just remember someone bursting in and saying 'Ericka's office. 911. Now.'"
"That was me," Carter confirms. "And the second you took off running after Leah?" He pauses. "The whole floor froze. I swear—people stopped breathing."
Leah nods. "It got silent."
Carter continues, voice softer now. "Because everyone knew it wasn't good. No one had seen you around Ericka's office all morning. When they saw you running like that... yeah. They knew something was wrong."
Ericka swallows, her grip tightening on Amanda's hand. "I'm sorry I scared everyone."
Amanda squeezes back gently. "Hey. Don't apologize. You did exactly what you were supposed to do."
Leah pockets her phone. "If I hadn't run like that and you found out later—"
Carter cuts in with a grin, trying to lighten the moment. "She'd be in the bed next door explaining herself to both of you."
That finally pulls a soft, shaky laugh from Ericka.
Amanda leans in, pressing a kiss to Ericka's forehead, lingering. "I'm proud of you," she murmurs. "You listened to your body."
Ericka nods. "I tried."
"And it worked," Amanda says quietly. "You're here. You're safe."
Leah exhales. "Text received. Sprint deployed. Crisis handled."
Carter adds gently, "Team effort."
Amanda looks around the room—at Leah, at the phone still warm from Carter's voice, then back to Ericka—and lets out the breath she's been holding.
"Yeah," she says softly. "Team effort."